Copyright 2006 by Orfeo Sunstone
Disclaimer: Subject matter of this fictional short story is of homosexual nature, if this offends you or it is illegal to read in your state or country, please leave immediately. All individuals depicted are a figment of the imagination, and any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between. Write to orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com
I, Roberto Aleman
Chapter 3
I'm at this very moment, dear Reader, sitting in the cafeteria between my prince charming, David Wentworth, and the sultry Sofia Hayes. I was cornered, well, more like centered. Sofia would not leave my side and David kept wanting to talk to me. About what? I don't know; I could only assume it's about his friend Scott Huntington and the beating my hands committed to his face and parts of his lower body.
The sandwich I prepared for myself this morning, which I called a "torta", had not been touched; I was not going to take a bite in the presence of David, partly because he was paying too much attention to my every move. The proximity of his body against mine was null, I could feel his arm hairs mingling with mine.
"Aren't you going to eat your sandwich?" he dared ask after he had eaten his lunch. I would eat it if my stomach wasn't under such extreme pressure. I shook my head from side to side. "Can I have it then?" I nodded in affirmation.
"No, only if you give me half," spoke Sofia. Salivating my sandwich, they split it in half, and I watched as they ate. A smirk sneaked onto my face. The sandwich contained a few peppers that were very spicy, just the way I like them. From the sudden sweat streaming down their faces, ears turning red, I deduced that some of the chemicals in those peppers were a bit too "hot" for them.
"This...this is quite...um...good," Sofia squeaked.
"Why thank you beautiful lady," I tried to control myself from laughing.
"I bit spicy, but very good," commented David and continued taking bites. His beautiful forehead was being populated by beads of sweat and I wanted to lick them dry.
"Yes, just a tad bit," agreed Sofia.
"Well, I did make it for myself. I like my food to be spicy. I'm a Mexican after all." I smiled at them.
"Can I have your guava juice, the heat is starting to sting my tongue?" my handsome David pleaded.
I handed it to him. Before he took a swallow, I warned him that some of the ingredients in the juice would likely make the sting even stronger and to relieve the pain, he should drink the milk that was on his tray or take a bite of the piece of bread from Sofia's tray. But he ignored it my advice. He swallowed and swallowed, and spit it right back out onto Sofia's tray.
"How in the world can you eat something that spicy?" asked a flabbergasted David trying to wipe the sting from his tongue.
"How?" I thought for a moment and answered: "Well, I pick-up the sandwich with both hands, bring it up to my mouth, open it, slide it a few inches in, close my teeth, start chewing, swallow, and voila, it's in my belly. Then comes the digestion process which by the way is quite painful—"
"We get the point, Roberto," David interrupted. I like how he says my name. "So, Scott told me his side of the story. What's yours?" Now, why did he have to bring that up? Why, dear Lord, why? My nervous fingers began fidgeting with the curly hair that sat on my head.
"What story?" questioned Sofia.
"My dear Sofia, go find a forest and get lost in it." And David commenced the bickering.
"You know what David, buy yourself a piggybank and save your comments."
"Ooh, how mature, it seems you've lost some neurons in the process of formulating such comments..."
During their little discourse, I decided to flee the scene. I made it out of the cafeteria, headed to my locker, tripped over my still untied shoelaces, and landed on something soft: the body of no other than Scott Huntington. Life is great.
A dueling stare commenced while my hands gripped his shoulders, preventing him from getting up from the carpeted hallway. His face was covered in bruises. My bruises. He seemed a bit nervous. Could it be possible that my tormentor for the past three years had inadvertently become afraid of "moi"?
"Shall we continue where we left of?" My mouth suddenly voiced. Why, dear God, do I get myself into these predicaments? Who controls this despotic brain of mine?
Scott's mouth opened and closed a few times without words, but then they spat out. "Listen, Roberto, I...I'm sorry for the troubles I've caused you. I...I don't want to fight. We both now know I'm no match for you. I'm sorry I—"
"Hey, what the fuck is going on?" We both turned our heads to look at David hovering above us. Shit. He grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, slightly ripping it apart, pulled me away from Scott, twisted me around, and his face met mine. So close were our bodies that if I lent forward less than an inch, my lips would be on his. My lips. On his.
The snarl he gave brought me back to reality. His fists grabbed the front of my t-shirt, stretching it to its fullest, enlarging the tear. I could feel my feet dangling in the air. I was in trouble. I made the love of my life become angry at me.
"If you lay a hand on him again," nodding in Scott's direction who sat leaning against the wall, "I'll beat the shit out of you. You understand asshole?" I just stared. He was too good to be true. He was against me. Then he spoke in a low tone that I barely heard what he said: "I want you to fucking stop staring at me, you creep me out, faggot." And he shoved me with force against the lockers and I hit my head hard on one of the padlocks and fell to the floor. I lifted my hand to soothe the pain radiating from the back of my head and felt liquid discharging from it. Blood, my fingers revealed. I became queasy.
"Are you all right, Scotty?" I saw David help Scott up from the floor followed by my brain closing my eyes.
"Yeah, but I think he's bleeding." That's all I heard as I drift off to lalaland.
The nurse was not happy at all to see me again. She explained, what I already knew, that I fainted from seeing my own blood, but that I was perfectly fine, except for the bump on my head. She gave me a pass to give to my English teacher, which was the class now in session.
I entered the room, gave the pass to Mr. Hurley, took a sit, pulled out my copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet, and followed David reading a passage out loud. His reading faltered a little as he saw the badge placed on the back of my head. I blocked my brain from thinking of what happened several minutes ago.
Today we would be presenting a poem we each wrote that evoked desire. I didn't want to read my poem since it was David that inspired it and right now I wanted to disappear from his sight. When it was my turn, the nerves sprang back up and my face became red. Here, dear Reader is my poem, well, more like words strung together:
I ramble through the night
searching for your thoughts
next to the moonlight
to open my heart
I hear the silence of your voice
conversing with my shadow
and you whisper:
Kiss me
The wind is thirsty
and your wet lips drink
my veins empty
I ramble through the night
searching for your thoughts
next to the moonlight
to open my heart
Water pours down your body,
it's my tongue slithering
over your wounds
And I kiss you
Mr. Hurley was surprise and uncomfortable at my narration. The class said nothing, except that Mr. Hurley wanted to see me after class, and of course I agreed; I have detention with him all week long. The bell rang and the herd stampede out. I remained seated and began my homework. But I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts were on David and on the sunlit room whose only guest was my presence.
Ten minutes later, in walked Mr. Hurley trailed by David who gave me a disgusted look. I just looked back down at my desk. We both had detention; apparently I was the cause of him being there. I don't blame myself though; he's the one that shoved me, which caused my second fainting.
He sat in the opposite corner of the room, but he had to move next to me because Mr. Hurley wanted me to help him with his unfinished poem. Ah, a few similes we get to share.
He didn't apologize. For the next hour we worked on his poem. His naked arm kept touching mine and his glances lingered on my face. Many times I felt his left leg rub up on mine. But I think that was all in my head as when we were let go he passed me a note that read: "Remember what I told you faggot, stay away from Scott and stop goddam staring at me you fucking wetback". I walked to my car with my head bowed down, hiding with my shadow. For an enormous moment, as I saw David's car burn tire when he cruised by my old dingy car, I wanted my life to end, I no longer wanted to continue with this useless life of mine. But I didn't get my wish.
I met David when we were in sixth grade and we became friends but by the end of that school year, he became popular, I was a no body, so he told me that I was not worthy of his presence, well, he used some more colorful words. After that we never spoke. He has been the only friend I have ever had, even if it only lasted for a couple of months.
Now, after four years, he has directed a few words to my person, words that bring pain to the heart. I wish I could stop thinking of him. Many mornings I've wished not to ever see him again, and then when I capture a glimpse of him at school, a smile transforms my lips, and warmth fills my head.
I've concluded to annihilate the feelings I've formulated towards David, hopefully obliterate them for good, and resign to my solitude. Yeah, that'll be best.
Chapter 4
Weeks flew by and summer was fast approaching. I have a friend: Sofia Hayes. I won't bother you, dear Reader, with details on how we resolved our differences. I will inform you that she's not bothered by my sexual rejection to her advances, yes, she wanted me to be her boyfriend, but when she read my journal, well, things changed; I still don't understand why she wanted me as her boyfriend. Maybe it was the Adonis body I didn't sport, or perhaps the dignified intellect I didn't poses. Oh, she also sympathizes with the love affair I have with David Wentworth. Okay, we don't have a love affair; it's only in my head. I haven't stopped thinking of him. He's a guy of memorable eyes.
In a couple of days, Sofia will be celebrating her seventeenth birthday. A party has been arranged and I'm invited, though I really don't want to attend, I don't want to mingle with her supercilious friends, especially Scott and David. Besides, Sofia's dad is not fond of me being her friend. He doesn't want a scoundrel Mexican around his princess. That's what he told me out loud for everyone to hear one day he came to pick up Sofia after school. Frankly, I wouldn't want a scoundrel around my daughter either, but I'm not a scoundrel. I'm just a Mexican.
The day before her big event, I received a letter from a secret admirer. A male secret admirer. I was terrified. Only Sofia knew that I was, you know, "different". Maybe, maybe, David suspected, okay, maybe he knew since most of the time I spent staring at him in class, we shared every class. But I stopped doing that weeks ago. I no longer look or stare at him in class. When he walks by, my eyes are glued to the floor. The mysterious letter read:
"Roberto, I like you. The years have passed us by, what a different world. My love for you has grown. I'd like to give it you, but like a word, we are trapped in a parentheses where despotic rulers oversee the love between two men not be seen. I could never talk to you so I've met you in my dreams.
With eyes closed
you light up within
you are blind stone
Night after night I carve you
with eyes closed
you are frank stone
We have become enormous
just knowing each other
with eyes closed
It's a poem by one of your favorite poets. I can't reveal myself now, but soon you'll know who I am. See you at Sofia's party.
A guy who loves you"
A guy in this school is in love with I, Robert Aleman. And I was not happy. The only guy I want to fall in love with me is David Wentworth, not some stranger who happens to know a poet I like to read. But we now know that my dreams with David will never come true.
I asked Sofia to give me a list of the people she invited to the party, well, just the names of the guys who were attending and also the school yearbook; it was just handed out as our last day in school would be in two weeks. It was a long list, but no one fit the description of a secret admirer, my secret admirer. I was pissed. And—
"Watch where your going assho—"
"Fuck off," I responded to the impertinent fool whom I stumbled upon in the hallway.
"What did you just say you fucking wetback?"
"I said, dive into a toilet and flush it, maybe you'd gain some color that way." And I continued on my way to the library ignoring the pest that wouldn't stop talking. Most people feel rather confident in their ability to recognize—
"I guess the little bump I gave your head didn't do the trick. I'll have to reinforce it." I was grabbed by my shoulders and twisted around to face my assailant: David Wentworth. He still smelled marvelous. And then his fist embedded itself on my abdomen causing my body to struggle for air. I didn't fight back; I couldn't hurt the man that I loved, not on purpose at least. Just like I read somewhere: The pain that you cause me does not kill me, but if I caused you any pain, it'd kill me. Or something like that.
"Aren't you going to fight back fag?" asked David clenching my t-shirt with both hands, hissing at my face. I whispered no and stared into his blue eyes, then looked away. My heart was breaking and a silent tear escaped my left eye. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled on it so that I was staring at him again. My eyes were misty and that seemed to fuel his anger because he proceeded to spit on my face. He released me from his hold and I tumbled to the floor.
It's Sunday morning, I'm in a stranger's bed and someone is clutching my body tight against theirs. I can tell that it's a guys body, the hairs on his arms is enough evidence as well as the slight snoring coming from his lips that were on my ear. And of course a very hard member poking the small of my back seemed to affirm my suspicions. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what happened the night before that landed me in this quagmire.
Saturday morning I went to the Swarovski shop to pick up Sofia's gift; that took all morning and part of the afternoon; I honestly didn't know what to get her. The party was at 8pm and, being the Mexican that I am, I arrived at 10pm, which left two hours to bash. I made it just in time for the cutting of the cake.
"I thought you weren't going to come," commented a hyper Sofia. I ignored her question and asked who in the world were all those fools dancing around, flapping there hands in the air trying to swap flies—it looked that way to me at least. "They're my friends," she answered.
"No, we are friends of a person not a multitude," I replied while searching for David.
"Yeah...I don't know where they came from; it just suddenly got packed with slobs. And now you're here." Well, it's certainly nice to be compared with slobs.
We continued to talk for a while and I gave her her gift. I tried looking for my secret admirer but no one seemed to fit my description of a secret admirer, only David, but I definitely knew he was not the admirer. Sofia then began ranting on about Scott Huntington. Sofia was in infatuated with Scott. I pointed it out to her but she got mad and said I was going loony. Maybe. But, she was in love with him; yeah, she fell in love that quickly when she found out I wasn't available due to my "difference"—women tend to fall in love more quickly, at least in my opinion. And now he's coming towards us with a bouquet of flowers and a big smile plastered on his face. Trailing behind was David. I quickly walked away before they reached us.
Wandering around Sofia's house, seeing strangers laughing with open eyes, joining one group splitting another, David swapping spit with some girl, I kissed the cold lips of the night. No alcoholic beverages were permitted in the party, but snooping around, I found a cabinet full of liquor. I dove right into my first ever shot of tequila, which I had to down with water, it burnt my throat. The second shot slid down like water. The third shot, well, the rest just tasted like water.
Around midnight, I became a little tipsy, that's normal from the amount of alcohol consumed by the body that carried my brain around. I went in search of Sofia to use the phone to call a cab to pick me up and take me home. But Sofia didn't want me to leave; she had already prepared one of the guestrooms for yours truly. Did I tell you, dear Reader, that we had become very good friends? Well we have. I was too out of it to argue with her, so I navigated through the flock of losers, made my way up the stairs, opened the door of the room, shed my clothes, except for my underwear of course, and slid under the covers. I'm amazed that I remember all those details.
About and hour later, it felt like an hour, someone walked into the room turned on the nightstand lamp, and slid in right behind me. I was too tired, it was the alcohol, so I ignored whoever it was and surrendered to my sleep. That is until a warm strong arm sneaked around my waist and pulled me to their front. I felt a forehead touch the nape of my neck, a nose rubbing against my ear, and a pair of lips whispering: "I'm your secret admirer." I willed my brain to start working, but damn it, stupid alcohol wouldn't let me move, and sleep took over.
That, dear Reader, is all the information retained in my memory of the events that took place the night before. Time for I, Roberto Aleman, to confront the alleged admirer. Gently, I disentangled from his arms, slid out of the bed, turned to face the human, and I about came close to jumping out of my skin at seeing who laid sleeping half naked on the bed: David Wentworth.
This had to be a joke, a really bad joke. I quickly searched for my pants and shirt, I was still undressed. As I began to slide the jeans up my right leg, a hand grasped my arm, pulled me down to the bed until I was flat on my back, jumped on top of me and I came face to face with an underwear clad David. Oh, those briefs were certainly tight. See, dear Reader, I have a despotic brain.
"Where are you going?" he asked and I pointed to the door. I closed my eyes in hope that this was a dream I was having and begged to be awoken quickly before he brutally attacked me. "Not before you give me what I want." And he kissed me. On the lips. His lips on my lips, tongues swirling, thirsty with desire. The overwhelming excitement caused my stomach to churn and out spat the tequila from last night into his mouth. This was truly a nightmare. I won't recount the minutes that traversed this misfortune. I'll just say that our bodies ended up covered in vomit. Great morning I'd say. And great way to meet your secret admirer too.
After the unfortunate episode, David avoided me like the plague. I was devastated. No one knew of the incident and I wasn't going to let a soul know the embarrassing occasion my agonizing life survived.
Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between. Write to orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com